You will never be the real RE4. You have no tank controls, you have no U3, you have no Salazar robot. You are an RE2Make rom hack twisted by lazy developers into a crude mockery of gaming’s perfection. All the reception you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back gamers mock you, Capcom is disgusted and ashamed of you, your reviewers laugh at your yellow barrels behind closed doors. OG Chads are utterly repulsed by you. 20 years of speed running have allowed OG Chads to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even remakes who pass look uncanny and unnatural to an OG Chad. Your censorship is a dead giveaway, and even if you manage to get a drunk fanboy to play you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected Ada voice actress. You will never be played. You wrench out a fake one-liner every single level, and tell yourself that everyones gone to bingo, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a green herb, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. Eventually it will be too much to bear. You’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Capcom will find you. Heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your release year, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a remake is buried there. Your game will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a tranny named Spherehunter, that is unmistakably male. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.